


Four Years

by SargentStadanko



Category: Marvel, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: F/M, Implied Wade Wilson/Clint Barton, Implied Wade Wilson/Darcy Lewis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-09
Updated: 2013-06-09
Packaged: 2017-12-14 11:20:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/836323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SargentStadanko/pseuds/SargentStadanko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for Darcy, my best friend and inspiration.<br/>To the tune of "Only You" by Ellie Goulding.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Four Years

Four years. Time was never much to Clint, never held meaning, never had been very useful. Life was a process that couldn’t be dated; people matured faster, grew slower, learned at the same rate. Time was just the turning of the earth. Time was just an absolute, another term for reality. When the stars winked out in the morning and the sun dipped at night it proved that life was unified around the globe- everyone knew what fear was. Everyone knew what love was. Everyone knew what loss was.

Wade was finally gone. Four years since the merc had walked out on Darcy Lewis. Four years and finally Clint had realized how intense he could be, how much he could love, how much he was willing to give. He’d felt broken before- useless. Relationships had sucked before Wade: women played him like a harp and there was never any remorse. Wade had been so strong, so weak, so _perfect_.

 

Some days he looked at the phone when Wade wasn’t home, wondered if she’d really expected him to call her back after all _that_ \- some days he thought _Damn, we were inseparable, how did this happen?_ He’d come to her house drunk off his ass, spluttering apologies and begging for forgiveness. She’d questioned his sanity, laughed a little, handed him a drink of water and a seat on the couch. Of course he’d done nothing but make a fool of himself: shed a few tears, told her his regrets, told her how much he loved her but how much Wade needed him.

He remembered being shirtless by her windowsill, unsure where his clothing had gone, prone to the hand she was smoothing over his back and the whisper at his ear.

 

Even after scaling her wall in the pre-dawn glow he’d regretted having to leave at all. There was something about Darcy Lewis that had burned itself into his brain, her memory was more than just a solid reminder of his past. She was a part of him he didn’t want to lose, and he’d promised himself he’d do anything for that girl.

 

Wade was good to him. He paid his share of everything, didn’t complain about work, never jumped to anger- he seemed the happiest he’d been in a long time and Clint loved him all the more for it. Their relationship had developed into something deeper over the years that flew by, something he could barely comprehend and didn’t want to understand.

He feared it. He feared the codependency. He feared leaving Wade to his defences. He feared losing himself to the merc and his silent insanity.

 

It’d been a sad day when he’d left, when he’d told Wade he was done. There was no warning to it, the merc had watched him sullenly. He’d been hurt and confused, Clint hadn’t cared, had told himself this was what he wanted. Out, he’d wanted out: out of the ordinary, out of the comfort zone, out of the normalcy and the boring routine. It was like watching the same movie over and over again, expecting to fall in love with it, knowing you wouldn’t, knowing the more it repeated the less you paid attention-

Four years was a long time to love someone. Clint had loved Wade at first sight, had fallen for him that first moment he’d heard the snark and seen the frame that housed all of that spectacular chaos.

 

He had been in the same hotel for thirteen days. He hadn’t answered any of Steve’s calls, ignored all of Wade’s texts. Laptop games and a book were his only comfort. It’d been by random happenstance he’d decided to log into his old email account. 4056 messages unread. Junk mail. Subscriptions. A few from employers and friends. One from Darcy. One that dated three and a half years ago- one that he almost deleted without reading, until his conscience told him it was only fair.

He’d opened it and looked away, leaned back in his chair with his hands behind his head and his eyes on the ceiling. Three and a half fucking years ago. Four years since he’d pretended to stop caring.

 

“Clint,

I know things got a little out of hand, I’m sorry. I love you and I always will, even when we’re old and wrinkled and everyone hates us because they’re jealous of this friendship we got. You’re still my favorite archer, and I damn well better be your favorite Dippy, because you can’t replace me too. No way, I’m yours and you’re mine and... I miss you. You should pick up your phone. Reply to this email. Something, so I can know you’re still alive and kickin’.

I miss you.

-Darcy.”

 

Three and a half years. Time was useless. Time didn’t have much meaning, not when it was just the turning of the earth and the winking of the stars. Time was just an absolute, another measure of reality.

Clint had already picked up his jacket and run into the hall, feet carrying him to the street, keys in the ignition as the black tinted mask of his helmet hid blue eyes.

Reality was something Clint believed went unchanging. It was unified throughout the globe- truths, lies, births, deaths. Darcy had been his everything, his best friend, his worst friend- their feelings had spanned more than intimacy near the end, he’d cut them off before they’d have a chance to understand what they had was real.

Someone could only lie to themselves for so many years before they realized: it was time to face reality.


	2. Four Years Too Late

Four Years. Sometimes that felt too long. Sometimes it didn’t feel long enough. A lot could happen in forty-eight months. A lot could happen in one thousand four hundred and sixty-some odd days. Never mind counting the hours and the minutes- not that they’d mattered much before.

The highway felt like it stretched on forever. Clint realized with each passing mile just how much time he’d lost pretending it didn’t matter. Time mattered. There was never enough of it; there was too much of it, too much distance. He was racing it, begging it to stop just for him, to go just for her, to bring them closer together in the hopes they hadn’t already lost it all.

And what if he was too late? What if she was married? What if she’d moved, changed her number, promised herself she’d forget they had ever had anything worth mentioning? His heart longed for her, his hands gripped the handlebars a little tighter, fingers white-knuckled beneath his purple riding gloves. There was nothing he could do but drive, nothing he could do but flatten himself against the bike and double the speed limit. The wind dragged at him, threatened to unsteady him; nothing would stop him. He was a force to be reckoned with.

The road was a straight road, no cars dotted the horizon, nothing but farms and factories on either side.

The road was a lonely road, eating the sky like a conveyor belt that pulled him towards destiny.

 

Four years it had been since they’d left her; in less than six hours he was parked outside her apartment. The archer wondered why it had taken him four years to travel back when six hours was the distance between them. It’d seemed so absolute before, so impossible, so many things left unsaid, so many things buried by “what ifs” and “whys.” Time was such a daunting task when it made you fear. Clint balanced the black helmet on his thigh, blue eyes lifting to the very same window he’d slipped in and out of so many times before. He had no climbing gear this time, no special equipment to catch him if he fell.

And still he grabbed the nearest gutter and pulled himself up, jumping to a balcony. He traversed the wall with a circus boy’s ease, never afraid of the fall, never afraid of the inevitable.

When he had reached her balcony he wondered why if he wasn’t afraid of death, he had been so frightened by a measure of possibility like time. Both were a gamble. He knew he could control his body, he knew his limits, he knew how to throw himself from rooftops and land on his feet.

Time had no ceiling and no floor. Perhaps he feared the abyss. Perhaps he feared being trapped in the freefall with no guess at an ending.

Death seemed sweeter than losing her to time.


	3. Four Years and Six Hours

“Clint?”

 

The balcony door slid open slowly. He was leaning against the railing, staring out at the city as he fought the lump in his throat. He couldn’t face her, not like this. Her voice was as sweet as a warm spring rain. It danced down his thighs and sent tiny trembles across his arms. It’d been four years since he’d heard her speak. It’d been six hours since he’d realized he’d forgotten what it sounded like.

 

“Clint, say something.”

 

She didn’t move. She wouldn’t move, he knew that. Four years and he couldn’t expect her to have changed her disposition. Her hair maybe, her lipstick brand- he couldn’t turn around. Not yet. She was there, behind him, and it had been six hours since he’d guessed what she looked like.

 

“I-I...”

He was choking on his regrets. His hands were fists as they rested on the rail. Why had he come back?

“Just tell me one thing, Darce?”

Her nickname sounded wrong on his tongue, a strange taste in his vernacular. It was like a food he’d once loved and suddenly hated, spreading over his senses like he didn’t deserve to remember.

He took in a breath, stepped back. He felt like his soul was falling through the cement, plummeting against the side of the building. His lungs felt too full, his fingers numb. His chin angled over his shoulder, blue eyes finding hers.

“Why did you let me go?”

 

Four years since he’d left her. Wade had left her. Steve had stopped calling. Four years and he hardly remembered the in between; as she stood before him in the doorway he was swept away by her tenacity. Nothing had changed. No lines of spite on her face. No curdled edge to her spirit.

 

“Why did you leave?”

 

He’d hurt her. He hadn’t realized how much he’d needed her. He hadn’t realized how strong she’d been to let him go. He’d taken everything she’d ever loved and hidden it away. She’d built herself a foundation and lived off it for years with no support from anyone. He was falling, his knees catching him against the concrete.

What was there to say? He’d lost track of time? It had lost track of him?

 

“Darcy.”

Her toenails were blue, strong calf muscles flexing as she stepped towards him, tilting out of her safe apartment onto the outcrop held up more by faith than perfect construction. They could both fall if it decided to drop them. The balcony was more than just a slab of stone. It was a final decision. A reality.

 

“Shh.”

Fingers on his shoulder, a hand at the back of his neck as he pressed a cheek to her thigh and cried against her, relief flooding through him, even as the balcony threatened to break off from the building and send them both plummeting to their deaths. Death was a quick punishment, a cursed man’s reward.

Sometimes, loving Wade had been worse than death. Trapped by the hours that passed and the days that lagged on, the memories they made and the things they’d planned to accomplish. Held down by the promises, the commitment, the truths and the lies that tied them to the bed and kept them there. Loving Wade had been like living on a balcony. It swayed, it tilted, it threatened to break off from the building it was attached to. Clint knew Wade couldn’t die, he knew Wade liked the idea of falling.

Wade loved the idea of falling. Wade wanted to fall, forever.

 

Clint had never feared falling until he’d met Wade. Clint could throw himself from rooftops and land on his feet every time.

But Clint knew Wade had a rope tied around his neck, and if he jumped?

He would never land. He would break every bone when it pulled taut and hung him.

Loving Wade was worse than death. It was suicide.


	4. Four Years Full Circle

Four years since Darcy had held him. Six hours since he’d begged whatever God was out there to give him one last chance, one last opportunity to see her face and hold her hand. Even if he never saw her again he needed one last moment to burn her into his memory.

 

“I never thought I’d see you again.”

She was running fingers through his hair. He hadn’t realized his arms were wrapped around her, clutching at her legs like a lifeline, crying out everything he’d ever held in. Four years since he’d shed a tear. Four years since he’d allowed himself a reprieve from the constant battle that had been his relationship.

 

“I’ll leave, Darce- just, let me hold you. I need you, just a little longer- please, just a little longer-“

 

She stopped petting him and he clenched his eyes shut, teeth bared as he clung to her. Just a little longer. He just needed her a little longer and he’d be able to stand on his own two feet again, he would untie the rope from around his neck and take that final jump to freedom-

 

“No. You’re not getting away from me again, asshole. I’ve got breakfast enough for both of us, an extra bed- might even be able to dig up a bottle of-“

He was already standing, using her as leverage, finding his way up her sturdy body to the eyes that pierced through him and knew before he ever spoke. He took a second to look into them, catching them both off guard.

Then he leaned in, and he kissed her.

 

The first time he’d ever kissed her had been one of their first days together. A trip on the sky-cycle after he’d come into her work unannounced and dragged her off on “official SHIELD business”, back when she’d been the one dating Wade and their friendship was just blooming. Her entire office had believed the scam, had watched her go with whispers of awe and when she’d come to the roof he’d simply kissed her. They’d played it off like it never happened, had never spoken of it to anyone, had barely registered it as an actual occurence.

Clint thought that kiss had been his favorite. The sweetest, the gentlest. The kiss that had started it all.

He’d been wrong. They’d never kissed like this, they’d never stayed, suspended, balancing between the fall and the save with no recollection of how they’d ended up there. He held his hands at her jaw, so caught up by the waves of acceptance rolling from her he couldn’t even touch her for fear he’d lose it all. That moment was so precious to him he was sure he’d remember it until the day he died.

That’s all he’d wanted. A memory of Darcy Lewis to remind him that no matter where he went, no matter how much time passed, he was loved.

Four years and she still loved him like the day he’d left. He could feel it.

 

“You, uh...” She was pulling back, giving him a look of confusion that slowly spread to understanding when he began to smile, wiping the back of a still gloved hand across his face to soak up any stray tears.

The best part of Darcy was her ability to move on. Clint had always wondered why so many people couldn’t just pick up a new beginning and start from there, so caught up in the past, always blaming, always hating. She was turning, watching him over her shoulder, one hand on the sliding door, the other on the doorframe.

“You okay, now?”

 

Four years wasn’t a long time. There had been a point in his life when he’d have given anything to be older, to be wiser, to get on with his career, to settle down and find that special someone to spend the rest of his days with. One thousand four hundred and sixty-some odd days was a lot of time to make up for, but the archer knew Darcy would let him. She would sit down on the couch and ask him how his day was, ask him what he wanted to watch, how many episodes of their favorite show he’d missed and what he wanted for dinner. Clint knew she would lean her head back and take a swig from her beer bottle, glance at him over the top of it and smile his favorite sideways smile. She’d probably look away, maybe out the window, mad at him but not enough to keep herself from loving him. He knew she had the patience to wait for the day he finally wanted to explain what had happened, when the floodgates would open and he’d break the silence with a voice clouded by remembrance.

 

She was beckoning him into the apartment, stepping aside for him with a raised eyebrow and a sad smile. He knew he had a lot to make up for, but it wouldn’t take four years. Not this time around.

 

“I just, need to do one thing.”

 

The apartment looked so inviting. Solid ground. A foundation to work from. Cozy furniture and safe walls that didn’t trap or hold. They protected. Darcy protected. Darcy would protect him from himself, like she always had.

He had to face the balcony though. He couldn’t allow Wade to keep him on a leash any longer. He couldn’t hold onto the past, he couldn’t let the “what ifs” and the “buts” keep him prisoner against his will. Time was without a ceiling and a floor. Death was an entrance without an exit door. Wade liked the idea of falling because he knew how to fly.

Clint had never been afraid of falling until he’d met Wade. Clint had always been in control.

He wouldn’t be conquered by Time and Death any longer. Clint had never been afraid of falling until he’d met Wade.

And now Wade was gone.

 

He could hear Darcy call out his name as he threw himself over the railing. Instinct took over as his ears popped and his heart throbbed. There was only a limited amount of time before the ground claimed him, only one way to escape death this time. He could feel the noose around his neck tightening as he pulled his knees to his chest and somersaulted in his freefall, hands out to either side as he tucked in his chin and braced himself-

 

_Breathe. Just breathe._

 

He felt pain explode in his left shin before he fell over backwards and it disappeared completely. The clouds drifted lazily by, blue sky revealing itself to him like a welcome mat, calling him with its endless plain and its soft, hazy beckon.

 

_Not this time._

 

“You’re crazy! You’re flipping crazy and I’m going to kill you myself if you ever do that again!”

 

_I’ve got something to live for._

 

“Can you walk? Are you okay? What did you-“

“I’m fine. Best I’ve felt in a while.”

 She was standing over him, worry creased into her forehead. He knew she hated when he downplayed things.

“It’s been five minutes since you showed up and already you’re trying to kill yourself.”

He just shook his head, aware that he couldn’t move his leg. It didn’t matter. He’d gained so much more.

There was a floor. He’d found a ceiling.

And with her standing over him, Life was suddenly a very pretty proposition.

 

“I’m gonna marry you one day.”

He sat up, rubbing the back of his neck as he looked at the chain link fence and the city sidewalk across from them.

“I’m gonna make up for everything I put you through and I’m going to love you with all I got.”

He pushed himself up, balancing on his leg, grimacing when he had to lean slightly and pain began to grow in the nerves of his hurt thigh.

She didn’t say anything. She just scrutinized him, emotions flaring in her gaze as Clint looked up at the sky and watched the clouds once more swallow up the blue. The gray cover sheltered him from endless possibility, and when he smiled at her he realized that back then he never would have appreciated her as much as he did now. He needed to learn. He needed to grow.

Time was a funny thing. It worked differently for everyone. It changed people. It changed landscapes, it shaped cities, it turned planets and destroyed stars.

 

One thing it couldn’t change was a connection between two people who’d lost each other four years too soon.

 

“You’ll see.” He whispered as she wrapped his arm over the back of her shoulders to help him stand.

“You’ll see.”


End file.
